


Where Did You Go, My Mystery?

by flightlessxbird



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Maybe a little OOC, Shameless Big Bang, idk cause we've never seen how mickey is when he's "out", mickey is out, there's death but don't worry ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:54:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2420993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightlessxbird/pseuds/flightlessxbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian Gallagher is troubled by the death of his parents, especially his mother. He's left in a depression, questioning his own purpose for living if, as his mother hinted as she died, there is nothing in death. His funk comes to an end however, when he runs into Mickey Milkovich on the street. Ian is distant at first, but strange events bring him closer and closer to the dark-haired thug. But when Mickey goes missing from their bed, leaving a blood trail up to the top floor of their apartment building, Ian may have to face his fear of oblivion in order to bring him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Right Now They're Building A Coffin Your Size

**Author's Note:**

> Okay first of all I'm very sorry that I didn't finish this by the deadline. I know that now I can't really participate in the next round of the big bang but honestly I wouldn't have anyway just because I've learned that I can't write on a schedule no matter how hard I try. So to the people who put the big bang together, I am deeply sorry. Also, my artist has pretty much disappeared, I've not heard anything from them since I sent them the story and I've not seen them post art on tumblr or anything, so I'm very sorry for that as well. It's pretty much what I was expecting, I didn't think any artist would be interested in this story and I was basically right. So, this is my last big bang. I do hope you guys enjoy the fic though, as I continue working to finish it.

**__ **

_“The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague._

_Who shall say where one ends and where the other begins?”_

_– Edgar Allen Poe_

 

 

                Death has an ugly face. There are few who have looked Death in the eye and, even despite years of wishing for its sweet release themselves, not wondered if maybe they wanted a second chance. Even for the loved ones of those who have died, it’s a terrifying thing to face no matter who you are. The end, which for all we humans in our limited knowledge could know, may just be oblivion. There could be no afterlife, no reunion with lost friends and family. Only blackness, only nothingness. A proper _end_.

                Ian Gallagher couldn’t shake these thoughts no matter how hard he tried. His father had died of, you guessed it, liver cancer just six months ago. Even though he wasn’t father of year (some might be inclined to say he belonged in the fatherhood hall of shame) and he wasn’t even Ian’s biological father, Ian couldn’t help but find himself in emotional turmoil. He and his siblings always wished for their dad’s death at one point or another, but none of them ever thought he’d actually die. In fact his older sister, Fiona, always said that Frank would outlive them all. Frank’s death did nothing to quell the already upset family who had found out that their mother Monica was dying too. She had apparently developed lung cancer just before Frank died. Fiona was ardently against having another family member die in their home. Monica was taken to a hospital, where she would live out the rest of her days on a gurney with nurses almost constantly at her side.

                Ian visited her the most. Perhaps it was because of the disorder that they shared that made Ian feel less alone while she was around, or maybe her many disappearances from his life had him needing her there in a way he could never explain. She was so kind and understanding, and she always knew how to cheer him up. She was the first person that Ian told about him being gay. He was afraid she’d get angry or disgusted, but all she said was “I’ve dated plenty of women in my time, don’t worry about it sweetie.” She was the most amazing woman with so many stories and jokes to tell when her medications kept her balanced. But still, as Ian’s eyes followed the bouncing line that beeped steadily on the monitor to indicate that his mother was still alive, he was upset to wonder how she could be so amazing to him even though she left her family so many times. How could a mother leave her kids in the protection of Frank Gallagher, who couldn’t care for a fucking dead hamster if he tried to. The worst part wasn’t even that Frank didn’t care because deep down he _did_ care about his kids; he made that clear on his deathbed. But his alcoholism and addiction consumed him and made him forget what was more important. And Monica cared, boy did she ever. But she couldn’t take it, having to be around Frank and raising a bunch of kids.

                “What are you thinking about, baby?” Ian’s head snapped up and he saw Veronica standing over him, holding two cups of hot chocolate. Her expression read “tell me ‘nothing’ and I will pop your little carrot top right off your shoulders.”

                Ian smiled tiredly and shrugged as Veronica handed him his hot chocolate. “Just thinking about Frank, and Monica. We hated them for years. Frank dies, Monica’s on her way out, and we suddenly feel like shit? It’s so fucked up.”

                “It’s not fucked up, they’re your parents. We all say we hate our parents, sometimes we really do. But when push comes to shove, they’re still family. And it still hurts when we lose them.” Veronica petted the back of Ian’s head gently. He sipped at the hot chocolate, thankful for the warmth that ran down his chest in the cold hospital room. The smell, the temperature, the overall shittiness of the hospital didn’t faze him anymore. The only thing that grated on his nerves was the constant beeping of the EKG. It was the only proof that his mother was alive right now. She was so still in her sleep, Ian thought with dread that she looked dead.

                “Ian,” Veronica leaned on the arm of the chair Ian was sitting in, her voice suddenly soft and gentle. He recognized this voice. It was the same voice she used for families of sick hospice patients. “They don’t think Monica’s going to make it through the night.” If her voice hadn’t been so soothing, Ian would likely have started crying. She didn’t need to tell him. He could tell by the way Monica looked that she was dying. She looked so calm, so resigned. Like she knew the end was here and she was ready.

                “But, you know she’s not going to be alone.” Veronica kissed the top of his head and hugged him tightly before she left with Kevin. Ian would have hugged back, except he couldn’t move. His gaze was fixed on the EKG. The dancing line was almost like the thread of her life that was about to be cut by the Fates in Hercules. And it was so fucked up.

                A stirring out of the corner of his eye told Ian that Monica was awake, and he put on his strong face and gave her a big grin as he moved to sit on the edge of her bed.

                “Hey sweetie.” Her voice was rough and she looked so tired. Even when she was depressed, she didn’t look this bad. But at the very least, she was smiling.

                “Hey.” Ian leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, which made her smile even wider.

                “Do you think you can get me out of here?” She joked.

                “Where to?”

                “Well, I could do with a makeover right about now.”

                “Debbie brought some stuff the last time. Here,” Ian reached into the drawer for the patient’s personal things and pulled out a makeup bag that Debbie brought, just in case there was ever a ‘code pink’.

                “You’re a good boy,” Monica said softly, reaching up to cup Ian’s cheek. Even as she was dying her smile was goofy and radiant.

                “I’m just looking out for you.” Ian smiled and searched through the makeup bag, pulling out some of Monica’s favorite light pink eye shadow. “Here, close your eyes.” Monica did as she was told while Ian opened little makeup palette. He used the little brown brush to collect the eyeshadow, rubbing it gently over Monica’s eyelids. Ian had to resist from recoiling at the cold feeling of her skin. She was so pale, and looked as though she had aged a couple decades since the last time he saw her. She looked worn out.

                “So, where’s your guy?” She asked suggestively. Ian chuckled softly, switching to adorn her other eye with the pink powder.

                “Come on, stop it.”

                “What’s his name?”

                “There is no guy, you know that,” Ian muttered. Monica opened her eyes and looked up at her son sadly. Ian searched through the makeup bag until he found some lip gloss. She allowed him to put the lip gloss on her before she spoke up.

                “You know after I got sick and I stopped dating, I realized just how great all that stuff really was. I don’t want you alone out there, Ian.” Her voice was slurred and pathetic, and Ian frowned as he grabbed the red nail polish, shaking it before screwing it open and beginning to paint on his mother’s fragile nails.

                “I know.” Ian couldn’t meet her eyes, so instead he focused intently on her nails. Her fingers were cold and trembling and looked easily breakable. He’d seen his mother in a fragile state before, but never quite like this. Never dying.   

                “I want you to be struck by lightning, completely floored by someone you just can’t live without.”

                “You make it sound so easy,” Ian chuckled dryly. Finding love was never his forte, and he was sure by now that it wasn’t going to happen. Not in the South Side.

                “Oh, honey,” Monica smiled and reached up with her unpainted hand, which shook with the effort, to touch Ian’s cheek. “If you pay attention, something that profound could actually happen.”

                “Something _that profound,_ huh?” Ian asked incredulously.

                “I’m serious,” Monica said, giving Ian’s cheek a light smack. “I’ve come to realize that… Maybe this life is really all that we have. I spent my whole life trying to please others thinking it would make me happy, and then I ran away from it all and now I find that I’m more alone than I ever was. I know you’ve been here for me,” she rested her hand on Ian’s shoulder, her eyes tearing up, “but I always thought that when we died there would be something more, something to go home to.

                “I don’t feel it anymore Ian, I don’t think it was ever even there. I need you to consider that maybe everything I ever taught you was wrong, that I was wrong about everything,” Monica’s hands were shaking and she was sobbing, the EKG beeping faster and faster as her heart rate increased.

                “Monica, come on shhh.” Ian cupped her cheek softly, hoping she would relax but her eyes were wide and she was staring at him, staring _through_ him. The beeping grew faster and faster until it held a steady speed, and Ian didn’t even notice that he was crying now too. “Mom, _relax.”_ Ian held her cheeks with both hands, accidentally spilling the nail polish all over the sheets.

                “I’m sorry, Ian, I’m so sorry.” Monica suddenly held a terrifying stillness, staring straight through her son’s chest with bloodshot, teary eyes. “There’s nothing here.”

                “Mom!?” Ian shook his mother in desperation, despite the steady tone of the flat line already coming from the EKG machine.  A nurse came into the room, but she wasn’t running the way they always did in the movies, she wasn’t even in any hurry. Because she knew. She knew that Monica wouldn’t make it through the night. She was simply here to jot down the time of death and console Ian if she could. Ian ignored whatever the nurse was saying to him, staring instead at the mess on the sheets. He couldn’t help but imagine that the spilled nail polish looked like blood. A wrenching feeling overcame his guts and he couldn’t place the disquieting sense that clouded his vision with tears. He’d been right there with her, cradling her face, up until the moment her eyes fluttered shut. He’d been right there with her. But the pang of horror in his chest almost seemed to confirm what was feared from the very beginning.

                Monica had died alone.

                Ian stared at his mother’s lifeless form with his mouth hung open, forgotten. He wanted to say it was Monica’s passing that had left him slack-jawed and shaken but it would have been somewhat of a lie. Her words troubled him more than he could ever tell. The horrible way she looked right through him, almost as though she no longer saw her son but rather a petrifying scene, left Ian with the feeling of having a hole burnt into his chest where she stared just minutes ago. What had made her say that there was nothing here? Ian was clearly right there with her. Ian’s stomach froze over and flipped with the possibility that she hadn’t spoken literally. He found his thoughts shambling down the same road they did when Frank died. Was there really anything after death? Or was there just nothing? An oblivion, an emptiness that someday Ian too would face all alone.

                Ian barely noticed his name being called while he was being shaken. Even as he looked up to meet Fiona’s eyes, he didn’t realize his uncontrollable whimpering. Fiona was saying something to him, but he couldn’t hear her. He had somehow backed himself into the corner of the room. He pressed his hands back against the walls behind him and was surprised to find the nail polish on his hands had left no prints. It must have dried already, which meant he must have been hyperventilating by Monica’s side for some time. His eyes snapped back up and his ears were finally able to focus in on what Fiona was saying. Her voice had taken on a husky, stammering quality which only happened when she was fighting back tears or angrier than a hellhound. It seemed that Fiona too was more upset about Monica’s death than she wanted to be.

                “Why does she always have to leave with a fucking bang?” Ian finally managed to speak. A cleft formed between Fiona’s eyebrows, but she stayed silent, watching him intently. She wasn’t sure what he meant, but she could tell something had upset him. Maybe something Monica said. His shoulders had curled in towards his chest and despite his 26th birthday coming up he looked like a child once again, the same sick little boy that Fiona and Lip had carried to the hospital when Frank left them on a curb. He was still her baby brother, and at this moment he definitely looked it. But his chubby cheeks and his toddling gait were no more. He had grown up to be handsome and charming, and Fiona was glad he’d done so well with his life so far. Until Frank died that is. Now all he did was mope around his apartment. And now Monica was gone too, and her baby brother looked unraveled.

                “Ian, I’m going to take you home, okay?”

                Ian had returned to the detached world that his panic brought him to and Fiona sighed. At the very least, he was detached enough to allow himself to be led out of the hospital by his sister, not sparing a glance back at his mother’s body.

 


	2. Tonight Love Is Rationed

****

_“There is no intensity of love or feeling that does not involve the risk of crippling hurt._

_It is a duty to take this risk, to love and feel without defense or reserve.”_

_-William S. Burroughs_

                Ian was, to put it lightly, depressed. And unfortunately it wasn’t the kind of depression that his medication was designed to fight. He couldn’t tear his mind away from what Monica said before she died. How was he supposed to act like everything was okay when now he knew what he knew? Monica was never an especially religious person, but she always taught Ian and his siblings that there was something after death. Heaven, or reincarnation. She was never specific, but she always stressed that there was _something_. Something to move on to. The thought always comforted Ian, he thought there was a place even for him. Something. But he knew now that there was nothing. No one would be waiting for him on the other side. There was no other side. And Ian had never felt more alone in all his life. There was no god looking down on him, deciding where Ian’s place in Heaven might someday be. And when he died, there would be _nothing_.

                He said so at Monica’s funeral. Fiona wasn’t happy with him for it, she said she didn’t want him saying that shit in front of the kids. That annoyed the hell out of him, for Fiona to tell him that the kids needed something to believe in. Why? So they can grow old thinking they’ll die and wake up at the pearly gates when that’s a fucking lie? Ian was about to yell at her, but his brother Lip had grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the church. The few weeks after that were incredibly mopey on Ian’s part. He’d hit a dry spell with his creativity and no matter how often Lip made him go out with his camera, he saw nothing worth photographing. What little he had photographed annoyed Lip, since the photos were all black and white and typically of trampled or wilting flowers. Lip had scoffed and called him a walking cliché of a depressed 7th grader, but Ian had become so disenchanted with life and everything in it that he couldn’t care less what Lip had to say about him. Ian was pretty sure if he was a camera his filter would be permanently stuck on black and white.

                Almost a month after Monica’s funeral, Ian had taken to cooping himself up in his and Lip’s dark apartment and watching his time lapse photo collection on repeat. His favorite was always the supercell he and Lip saw on their impromptu trip to Mexico the previous summer. Ian usually only brought his tripod with him when he was planning to do time lapse photos, but he brought it that time on impulse, and he sure was glad he did. The resulting photos were breathtaking, haunting even when he put the video together. He was probably a fucking idiot for staying outside to take those photos, but they were damn worth it. At least he thought so at the time. Now he was staring at the photos with the vague sense that it was all a waste anyway. No matter how beautiful it was, it meant nothing.

                “Yo!” The room was lit up suddenly and Ian would have cussed Lip out for making such a boisterous entrance had he not been so exhausted. Lip made his way over to pat his brother’s shoulder, but frowned and stopped short. He tutted loudly against his teeth and pushed open the blinds along the window. Ian shied away from the light, his near-constant headache worsening.

                “Are you fucking kidding me? Look man,” Lip complained, pulling Ian’s chair away from the laptop and closing the photos of the supercell. “You know everyone loves your old shit, me included. But don’t you think it’s time for something new? And none of that ‘wilting weeds out of the sidewalk’ shit either.” Lip teased Ian and slapped a hand on his younger brother’s back before glancing over at Ian’s tripod which was now leaning up against the wall near the door. Lip’s face lit up.

                “Aha! You’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you?” Ian glared up at Lip and got up to grab the tripod, shoving it back into its case.

                “Oh, by the way, they’re almost here.” Lip began cleaning up around the apartment, ignoring Ian’s narrowed eyes.

                “ _Who’s_ almost here?” He asked through gritted teeth, plopping back onto his chair.

                “This _freak_ of a girl, Karen. She’s coming over with her friend.” Lip seemed keen on this girl, but Ian was nonplussed.

                “What for?”

                “We’re taking them out tonight,” Lip said with a reassuring grin. Ian was in no way assured.

                “Lip, no—“

                “I’m telling you, this is exactly what you need! A night out with some drinks, some dancing. Bring your camera and something might spark your interest. Her friend _Brian_ is just dying to meet you. I told him how fun and freaky you _used_ to be.” Lip probably thought that dangling some piece of ass in front of him would get him moving but Ian just didn’t care. Didn’t care about _Brian,_ or Karen, or going out for drinks and dancing.

                “I haven’t even showered yet,” Ian offered lamely.

                “Don’t worry, you smell like roses. Wilting roses, if that’ll make your new found dark and poetic soul happy.”

                Ian shot Lip a warning glance as he set four beers out on the table. Ian shut his laptop and pushed away, ignoring the beer Lip was handing to him.

                “Come on man.”

                “I’m busy, Lip.”

                “ _No,_ you’re not. You’re fucking _hiding,_ Ian.”

                “Not hiding,” Ian insisted. He stood up and grabbed the messenger bag he kept his camera in, shrugging his coat on as he headed for the door. “I actually _am_ busy. I have a check-up today.”

                “That’s four checkups since Monica died,” Lip pointed out. Ian bit down on his lip to keep himself from starting a fight with his brother. He didn’t need this right now. He didn’t need to listen to Lip being so overbearingly fucking  _right_ all the time.

                “Say hi to _Brian_ for me,” Ian spat bitterly before pushing his way out the door. To Hell with Lip and his rightness. Oh, right, there was no Hell. Damn. Ian had at least an hour before he had to go for his check-up, so he killed time in the park with his camera. There was nothing of real interest to photograph, so he took the time to sit on a bench and look through all the pictures he last took. He hadn’t changed out the SD card in months, so it wasn’t long before he had looked through the two or three dozen black and white photos he’d taken in the last month. Soon he had happened upon the photos he’d taken before he found out Monica was sick. Ian had to smile at some of them. Any photos that weren’t of scenery for his time lapse videos were typically people. He had some beautiful pictures, mostly of younger people, where couples were seen making out, holding hands, or just looking at each other.

                Ian always thought scenery was beautiful, but it was the people in the landscape that made it worth photographing. It was so often while he was shooting couples and people in the park or on the El that he wondered what story they carried with them that day. Perhaps the young pair of girls he’d photographed holding hands and whispering to each other at the edge of a fountain were best friends, attached at the hip and they would be that way with each other for life, all “chicks before dicks” and “soul sisters”. Or maybe there was something more. Maybe their innocent hand holding was to distract from the lascivious gazes they shared, so that people would look at their dainty intertwining fingers and not wonder if the girls were whispering about all the ways they were going to make each other writhe and mewl that night. People brought life and secrets to the scenery they graced. And Ian was always one for weaving stories, especially when it came to strangers he knew nothing about. That was the life of a photographer after all. Never knowing your subjects, never getting too close so as not to ruin the magic of wonder that a photo without explanation could elicit. The possibilities were endless and Ian loved that, no matter how lonely he got from always being on the other side of the lens.

                Ian checked his phone to see he had ten minutes until his appointment with his doctor, so he shut off his camera and put it back in the bag, still thinking about those girls as he wandered toward the doctor’s office. He couldn’t help wondering where, or who , they were now. That photo was taken months ago. They could be anywhere by now. Maybe they _were_ a couple. Hell, maybe they eloped. They seemed like the kind of bright and bubbly girls who would love to get married. Or maybe they were still just best friends. Ian kind of hoped for the former.

                “Well Ian,” Dr. Abrams looked over Ian’s chart before sitting down in front of him, “everything looks just fine.”

                “Are you sure?” Ian asked, trying to peek over at the chart before the doctor closed it. “I just feel like… Something’s not right.”

                “Ian, you are going to live a long, _healthy_ life. What you’re feeling right now is all part of grieving. It’s going to pass, if you allow it to.” _Oh,_ _great,_ Ian thought. _Now he’s going to get all psychiatric on me. Shit._ “What about your personal life, how’s that going? Are you getting out there a little bit?”

                “It’s been… Slow,” Ian nodded.

                “Do you feel alone?” Wow, right to the point. At least he didn’t skirt around what he wanted to ask they way Ian’s psychiatrist did. It definitely saved a lot of time and useless rambling.

                “I am alone. But it’s fine, that’s just how it is.”

                “It doesn’t have to be.”

                “I think maybe it does, right now.”

                “Why?” Dr. Abrams asked with furrowed eyebrows. Ian shrugged, thinking back to those two girls once again. He had to resist wincing as he came to the conclusion that that would never be him with someone else. He and Lip used to have the attached at the hip friendship down, but Ian had drawn so far away from him emotionally that they’d practically disconnected as brothers. And he knew for sure he would never have a person to share his life with. That wasn’t an option anymore, it seemed.     

                “Because,” Ian started, his tone making what he said sound as though it should have been as painfully obvious to the doctor as it was to him, “how can I possibly lose someone else? I am not _physically built_ to endure it, I can’t. Why does everyone expect me to just find someone to give a piece of myself, maybe _all_ of myself when they’re just going leave like—“ Ian paused, not wanting to say like Monica. Because it was true, every time Monica came back he gave her a piece of his heart, because like Veronica said she was still his mother. And he did love her. But when she died she took all of Ian’s pieces she’d accumulated over the years with her and left Ian feeling emptier than before. How was he supposed to go through that shit with someone else, maybe someone he loved more than Monica?

                “So this is it, and I’m okay with that.”

                “Are you?”

                Ian stared at him for a moment, an unsure look stuck on his features before insisting with a smile, “Yes.”


	3. Wonderwall

****

_From the minute I walked into the room and saw her, I was in love._

_I had to endure the entire evening being the only person in the room who knew this._

_– Henry Rollins_

                Ian didn’t go home after his check-up. He didn’t want to run into Lip and those people he was hanging out with tonight. Instead, he wandered around the city until night had fallen. It was cold but he didn’t mind at all. He loved the cold weather; it struck him down to his bones and made him feel a little more alive with the chilled wind whipping against his face while he walked. The night air wasn’t suffocating like the stale environment that his apartment had become. Maybe Lip was right, he needed to get out of there more often. He just didn’t necessarily agree that he had to have company tagging along when he did leave. He was much more content on his own seeing as how he was the only person in the world who liked to just walk around and fucking enjoy silence. He was quite the talker under the right circumstances, but sometimes he’d rather listen to the wind and footsteps of passersby around him. Ian decided he should head home seeing as how it was 7 and Lip had probably already left the apartment. Thank god, because all Ian wanted to do was curl up with some hot chocolate and watch Queer As Folk reruns. Normally he would have been drinking at home, but he hadn’t been able to drink more than half a beer since he got started on medication. It made him queasy as all hell.

                Ian thought that cutting through the alley would get him home faster. There was the usual homeless vagrant hanging around a dumpster, but it was nothing Ian had to worry about. Upon stepping out of the other side of the alleyway, someone ran right into Ian and knocked him to the sidewalk where he hit his head hard against the concrete.

                “Watch where you’re fucking going!” Ian heard the voice of the man yelling above him, but as he opened his eyes, he was met with a pair of crazed blue eyes. The guy was kneeling down next to Ian, picking up a bag he dropped, but he’d stopped and was staring back at Ian. Ian felt something warm and wet trickling down the back of his neck, but he was too busy looking at the man kneeling at his side. His hair was raven black and shorn short on the sides, where the top was a little longer. Ian remembered having a similar haircut when he was in the army. The black-haired man looked around Ian’s age and he was panting, his pale skin practically translucent in the moonlight. Ian didn’t have time to register anything else because this guy was grabbing the back of his coat’s collar and dragging him up off the sidewalk, pulling him into the alleyway and pressing their bodies close against the brick wall, the brunet’s tattooed fingers clapping over his mouth to shut him up. Ian didn’t know what was happening, just that the brunet was hiding his face in the crook of his neck and that for some weird reason Ian wasn’t struggling. In fact the stranger’s breath coming out in warm puffs of air against his neck was relaxing, and it wasn’t like he was doing anything to him. It seemed more like he was just hiding them. A few seconds later, Ian saw a pair of cops running at full speed past the alley. Had they not neglected to look into the shadows beside them, they would have seen who Ian could only assume was their fugitive.

                A few tense minutes passed and Ian took a deep breath as the stranger removed his hand from his mouth. His hand now rested limply on Ian’s shoulder, his face still pressed into Ian’s neck as he panted. Ian was beginning to feel a little awkward, to say the least. Apparently the stranger was too because he pushed away from him to rest his hands on his knees. He looked up at Ian while he caught his breath before standing up straight and clapping a hand on Ian’s shoulder.

                “Sorry, man. You alright? You’re not hurt are you? Do you need a band-aid or some shit?” He ran a hand through his hair and Ian could see now the word “fuck” tattooed clearly on his knuckles. Cute. And clearly South Side.

                “I’ll live.” Ian shrugged, though the back of his head was smarting more than he’d admit.

                “I—sometimes I run, gets me places quicker, you know?”

                “More like gets you _away_ quicker,” Ian smirked, reaching back to rub at the spot that had hit the concrete. The stranger laughed and nodded in agreement. His grin turned into a grimace when he saw Ian wincing from touching the sore spot, his hand coming away with blood on it.

                “Shit man, I’m sorry. I probably scared the shit outta you, didn’t I?” The stranger smiled apologetically.

                “A strange man dragging me into an alley and covering my mouth? No, I’m totally used to it.”

                “Just another Friday night, right?” The stranger asked and Ian laughed. Ian laughed? Even to himself, the sound was foreign. He hadn’t laughed in a long time. Not really anyway. He faked laughs for Monica while she was in the hospital, but it was never real.

                “Almost killed me, man.” Ian teased and rubbed the sore spot again before dropping his hand to his side.

                “Yeah I, I don’t know how I could miss you,” the other man mumbled as if Ian wasn’t meant to hear and held his hand out for him to shake. “I’m uh, Mickey by the way. Milkovich.” Ian looked down at the hand Mickey held out to him and almost laughed again when he saw the complementary tattoo to the “fuck” one that read “u-up”. He took Mickey’s hand and shook it with a smile.

                “Ian Gallagher.”

                “Gallagher? Like those brothers from Oasis,” Mickey snickered.

                “You listen to Oasis?” Ian accused, acutely aware that he and Mickey had been shaking hands for longer than was necessary.

                “Nah man, just that one song everybody knows.”

                “Wonderwall.”

                “Exactly,” Mickey nodded, and finally let go of Ian’s hand. “So, you a songwriter like them then?”

                “No, photographer.”

                “Ah,” Mickey gave a nod of understanding and if it weren’t so dark Ian would have sworn that Mickey’s eyes were raking over his body.

                “Well Gallagher, I totally get being startled in the dark.”

                Ian narrowed his eyes at him playfully and crossed his arms. “It might have been the creeper running _through_ the darkness that did it.”

                “Okay, okay, I said I was sorry,” Mickey held his hands up in surrender, his laughter ringing out the echoing alley. Ian liked the sound of it. The guy looked so apologetic that Ian couldn’t help his old tricky nature bubbling back up. He stared at Mickey as if he couldn’t see him, letting his face fall as he stumbled out of the alley. He leaned up against a storefront and Mickey had followed him out, giving him a weird look.

                “Are you okay?”

                “I, yeah I’m fine,” Ian said, blinking rapidly.

                “Doesn’t look like you’re fine,” Mickey worried the corner of his lip between his teeth and Ian thought that was kind of hot.

                “I just, I keep seeing these like, dot things in front of my eyes…” Ian trailed off and suddenly he felt Mickey’s hands on the sides of his head, making Ian look at him.

                “Are you serious? Wait just, just look at my eyes okay. How’s your balance?” The look of concern on Mickey’s suddenly paler face was just priceless. Ian let his devilish grin grow across his cheeks and Mickey narrowed his eyes to slits.

                “Are you fucking with me right now?” Mickey let his hands drop from Ian’s face, but he was smiling in defeat. “Come on,” he griped.

                “You deserved it,” Ian insisted, starting to walk past him.

                “I was about to call an ambulance!”

                “You were about to _faint_ ,” Ian snickered, walking backwards now so he could look at Mickey who was following him.

                “Fuck you. You shouldn’t be so cold to the guy who almost called 911 for you,” Mickey frowned and feigned sadness.

                “And you shouldn’t tackle helpless boys on the street!” Ian’s cheeks were beginning to hurt considering this is the most he’s used them in months. “It was valiant of you though, trying to cure my blindness,” Ian teased him. Mickey didn’t seem to be the type of guy to let anyone tease him, but for some reason Ian’s teasing was only drawing him closer. 

                “Can I uh, walk you home? You know, make sure you get where you’re going ‘cause uh, I did save your eyesight after all.” Ian stopped walking and watched Mickey warily. Mickey’s tongue darted out over his bottom lip before tucking his lip between his teeth, then releasing it slowly. It seemed to be a nervous habit of his. “I am kind of your hero after all, if you want to get technical.” Ian turned the pros and cons over in his mind. Finally, he decided what could it hurt? Living in the South Side, you tend to figure out pretty quick when someone is dangerous. And Mickey didn’t seem dangerous, at least not a danger to Ian. Ian agreed to Mickey walking with him just as long as he kept a three foot distance. Mickey respected that at first, but about ten minutes into their walk they were nearly shoulder to shoulder. Ian wasn’t sure which one of them closed the gap, but he found that he didn’t mind it at all. Mickey explained why he’d been running from the cops, showing Ian the bag that he’d stolen from what looked to be a high end place. Ian hadn’t even noticed in the darkness earlier that it was a woman’s bag. Mickey explained that it was for his sister’s upcoming birthday. Ian smiled at that. God knows how many gifts he’d given his family members that were stolen rather than paid for.

                “This is my building,” Mickey said, interrupting the comfortable silence they had going for the last two blocks. “Impressive, isn’t it?” He joked and gestured to the apartment complex’s ratty appearance. Ian liked it though, it had character. Just like Mickey.

                “And that is the tour group that goes through it every night,” Mickey pointed at a clamor of people in front of the building with a sigh.

                “Tour for what?” Ian asked, his interest piqued.

                “It’s one of the oldest buildings in the city; it’s supposed to be like some spooky haunted bullshit.”

                Ian raised his eyebrows at Mickey, chuckling softly. “That’s comforting.”

                “Yeah it’s apparently big with the paranormal crowd and shit. You know you’d think that they’d tell you something like that _before_ you move in,” Mickey shook his head incredulously.

                “I wouldn’t move in if I knew,” Ian shrugged before adding, “not that I buy into that stuff.”

                “You’re creeped out by it, but you don’t believe in it? How the fuck does that work?” Mickey asked, nudging Ian’s shoulder. When Ian didn’t respond, Mickey skipped to stand in front of him with his hands shoved in his pockets and a smug grin.

                “You know, I bet if you came on this tour with me you wouldn’t be freaked out.” Ian stared at Mickey wide-eyed. “Come on, it’ll be fun. We can make fun of how stupid this shit is.” Mickey patted Ian’s shoulder and Ian shook his head, gluing his eyes down to the floor and stepping around Mickey.

                “Uh, maybe another time.” Ian couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t let himself get attached to Mickey but, fuck, he already was. That’s why he needed to leave as fast as possible.

                “You see the thing is,” Mickey skipped around Ian once again, putting a hand on the redhead’s chest to stop him. “I might like you a little bit, and if we’re gonna start banging then I gotta know at least _something_ about you besides your name.” Mickey smirked and caught Ian’s eye, Ian who was blushing furiously at Mickey’s sudden forwardness. “Like maybe, something else you’re afraid of besides creepy haunted apartments?”

                “I never said we were _banging_ ,” Ian choked out, looking at Mickey who was so smooth compared to him right now. Ian used to be the one hitting on hot guys, not the other way around.

                “Really? I thought you did, but maybe that was me.” Ian found himself puckering his lips because it was the only to stop himself from smiling again. “Come on, humor me,” Mickey insisted. “Tell me something.”

                “You first,” Ian said. If he was about to give a part of himself away, then Mickey was going to have to do the same.

                “Alright,” Mickey stepped closer to Ian. “I’m afraid of missing the boat. You know growing up in the South Side, you learn pretty quick that if you’re gay, you keep your mouth shut about it. I missed a lot of golden opportunities ‘cause I was scared of my dad. But my dad died a few months ago. So now if I see something I want,” Mickey accented “want” by letting his eyes travel over Ian’s body, “then I listen to my gut and I go after it. Gets me in trouble sometimes, but it’s usually worth it.”

                “Yeah well, you can’t just _get me_ , Mick. I take work.”

                Mickey grinned and bent over to the floor, picking up a pebble and holding it up in front of Ian’s face. “What comes easy is pretty cheap. But what’s valuable,” Mickey dropped the pebble and held up the expensive bag he stole for his sister, “doesn’t come easy.” Ian finally let his smile break out. How was he supposed to hold back a smile when this guy was making him feel so… Precious. Like he was worth the work.

                “Now it’s your turn,” Mickey prompted.

                “I’m uh… Afraid of heights.” At Mickey’s disbelieving look, Ian shoved him with a laugh. “Like, deathly afraid! I know, it’s weird.”

                “Nah man, it’s not weird.” Mickey smiled, stepping even closer to Ian. Ian quickly dodged out of the way, starting to walk slowly away from Mickey.

                “Yeah well, my fear borders on extreme. Look uh, my apartment’s just a couple blocks down so… thanks for the walk. And uh, for restoring my vision.” Ian chuckled and walked backwards away from Mickey.

                “You’re really gonna let me do this tour alone? I gotta sleep here tonight, ya know.”

                “I’m sure you’ll be fine, big boy,” Ian laughed. Mickey stepped forward as Ian stepped back, as if there was some sort of magnetic pull between them. It wouldn’t have surprised Ian if there was, considering how different they were yet Ian felt that pull the whole night.

                “Maybe I’ll run into you again—er well, I’ll walk. Don’t wanna blind you again.”

                Ian laughed and faced forward to keep walking and he heard Mickey’s voice behind him, getting farther away.

                “I know you think I’m crazy! But it’s possible,” Mickey’s voice was growing distant but Ian could still hear him and he laughed softly to himself. “You know, something that profound could actually happen.”

                Ian stopped dead in his tracks. He turned back to look at Mickey who was beaming at him with a hopeful grin. Ian didn’t know if it was Monica’s words echoed in Mickey’s voice or the magnetic pull he still felt between them, but Ian found that his feet were already carrying him back to where Mickey was standing with the tour group.


	4. I Went Looking For Trouble and Boy, I Found Him

_I could see in his face white flowers,_

_And cups of coffee,_

_And love letters._

_– The White Stripes_

                “There is a certain mystique to the Waldon Tower,” the tour guide with the overly ooky spooky tone to his silky smooth voice said as he touched the wall so tenderly, Ian might have thought he was stroking a woman’s bare thigh rather than peeling paisley wallpaper. Mickey and Ian stood at the back of the tour group, their faces barely a hair’s breadth away from each other while they made whispering cracks about how ridiculous the whole thing was. “It is registered with the state as an official haunted landmark with a history of more paranormal sightings than any other on record,” the tour guide paused for dramatic effect then gave a little smirk and turned to walk up the stairs. “Follow me.”

                “You alright there, tiger?” Ian clapped Mickey on the back who sarcastically feigned terror then grinned.

                “Think I’ll be fine, Firecrotch.”

                “Firecrotch? How would you know whether the carpet matches the drapes?”

                “I’ll find out,” Mickey winked, and they halted their playful banter as the guide began speaking again. As ridiculous as it all was, the history of the building was still interesting.

                “Dating back to the turn of the 20th century, this was a state-run convalescent hospital where _hundreds_ of people died over the period of twenty-five years. Then in the forties, they shut it down for about a decade before converting the rooms to apartment units. Now, many people have reported seeing apparitions over the years. Figures shuffling about the halls.”

                “I’m definitely not coming up, by the way,” Ian murmured in Mickey’s ear and the brunet squinted at him as if he was offended before snorting and turning his attention back to the guide.

                “There were countless reports of patients’ belongings going missing over the course of a few days and, well, soon after that, the patients themselves would go missing. Hospital personnel would find chests stashed around the hospital with the patients’ belongings, but never a trace of the patients.” The guide quirked an eyebrow as if to be mysterious and continued to lead the group through the building.

                “Better hold on to your bag,” Mickey joked, nudging Ian’s side.

                “Now back in 1972, a renovation crew worker reported several of his belongings missing and then… Soon after he went missing too. And to my knowledge, he hasn’t been found.”

                Okay, now Ian had begun to feel a little uneasy. There’s something to be said for people going missing within the last fifty years, in a place the guy he might just like lives. Not to mention the place was giving him the creeps. He chanced a glance over at Mickey, who had also gone stone-faced. The tour group began walking again, but Mickey had other plans. He grabbed Ian’s hand and started leading him away from the group, toward the area of the apartment complex that was mostly abandoned. Ian giggled with him conspiratorially as they made their way into some sort of unused kitchen. It was dark and Ian could barely see, but he felt a little safer with Mickey still holding on to him.

                “We better not get in trouble ‘cause of you,” Ian said, jabbing Mickey’s side with his finger and making the other man yelp.

                “Don’t be such a pussy, I live here remember? If the tour group can come through here whenever, then _I_ can come through here whenever.” Mickey’s “everything is mine” state of mind made Ian laugh. How adorable for such a small man to make such big statements.

                “This place is old,” Mickey stepped further into the darkness of the kitchen.

                “Yeah, like you,” Ian teased.

                “I’m only 27, asshole.”

                “That’s ancient. I’m 25, you grandpa.” Mickey reared back and smacked Ian’s arm with a laugh. There was a light flickering overhead that would illuminate Mickey’s face briefly and Ian smiled because Mickey was smiling so freely, as if he had just gotten off from a life sentence. Ian had already figured out by then that Mickey must have been Terry Milkovich’s son. He never met the family, but he heard that they were notorious for their fag-bashing fun. Mostly Terry though. Ian couldn’t help but wonder how long Mickey had to hide who he was. Ian didn’t get to think much more on the subject because Mickey was pulling his sleeve, pulling him further into the kitchen.

                “Creepy kitchen eh?” Ian never really took the time to look around the kitchen, but now that Mickey had mentioned it, yeah. It was definitely creepy. Ian gave a soft nod and followed Mickey closely.

                “Smells like barbecue sauce,” he joked. Ian rolled his eyes and pinched his nose because to him it smelled more like rotten eggs and it was just fucking gross.

                “Oh hey, quick thing. Smile.” Mickey put an arm around Ian’s waist and before Ian could react, Mickey had his phone out and had snapped a picture of them. Ian shoved Mickey gently and groaned.

                “That’s- no! I wasn’t ready!”

                “I nailed it,” Mickey insisted, unlocking his phone to find the picture. “Look, it’s fine!” Ian glanced over to look at the picture and almost doubled over. What a fucking horrible picture. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights because of the flash and his doe-eyed “I wasn’t ready for this picture” expression that people always seem to get in surprise photos.

                “No that’s terrible, here,” Ian reached into his bag, ignoring Mickey’s protesting and raving over the photo, and pulled out his camera. He checked the settings, turning off the black and white filter and turning on flash. Mickey gave a low, impressed whistle.

                “Oh wow, you _are_ a professional.” Mickey moved in close to Ian as Ian held the camera up, taking the photo just a little too soon much to Mickey’s dismay.

                “I wasn’t ready! You took it too quick, come on, one more.” Ian scoffed, but held the camera up once more.

                “This is the one, I can feel it,” Mickey said with a smile. The boys grinned up at the camera as the shutter sounded. Ian switched to the gallery so they could see it.

                “Hey, that’s—“ Mickey’s praise was cut off by a slamming sound coming from the far end of the kitchen. It sounded like someone smashing a metal pan against the wall. Neither man dared to step forward, the warning tingle of goosebumps rising on their bodies. Ian could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise, that smell of rotten eggs becoming worse than before. A light shone in their faces and Mickey breathed an audible sigh of relief when they saw it was the tour guide peeking in through the other door.

                “Ah, thought we lost you two.” Both Mickey and the tour guide began to laugh, but Ian was more focused on the heavy feeling of unease in his stomach. He tried to laugh with them, but it didn’t feel right. His neck tingled uncomfortably, as if someone were breathing against it. He scrunched up his face and squirmed, reaching back to rub at his neck. He could feel the dry flakes of blood that were still there from when he fell to the sidewalk earlier. Mickey placed a hand on his shoulder to start leading him back to the tour group, but Ian shied away from him and frowned.

                “I think I should get going, you know. Gotta clean up my near-fatal head wound, get home and all that.”

                “Hey, wait,” Mickey started after him. Ian started walking away from Mickey like he had done so many times earlier that night. Why was he always fucking walking away? Why was he always fucking hiding? Lip was right, he was acting like a pussy. What could be the harm in just getting to know Mickey? On impulse, Ian stopped short and whipped around and Mickey almost ran right into him.

                “I go to this gym every Saturday. It’s right down the street, right in front of the bakery?” And with that, Ian smirked at Mickey and began heading out of the kitchen. He looked over his shoulder to see Mickey walking backwards toward the tour guide, his fists in his pockets and a smug half-smile on his face. Ian still felt uneasy, but he wanted to see Mickey again. True, Ian hadn’t been to that gym in months but he was still in mostly perfect shape. Why not show off a little? Mickey had only seen him while he wore his coat and it wasn’t necessarily tailored to be slimming.

                So the next afternoon when Ian made it to the gym, he decided on being a bit of a show-off. Okay, maybe more than a bit. He abandoned the tank top he was wearing about twenty minutes into his work out when he’d really started working up a sweat. He ran five miles on the treadmill, and did an assload of sit-ups and leg-ups. He started to get distracted from his workout when his mind decided to wander onto something Ian had been wondering at the back of his mind ever since he left Mickey at his apartment. Was he a pitcher or a catcher? Ian didn’t bottom for anyone, _ever_. He thought he might like to hear Mickey’s pillow-muffled moans as he pounded him into the mattress. That’s not to say that he thought about what sounds he could pull from the brunet’s lips when he went home the night before. Definitely not. And he definitely had not jerked off to the thought of Mickey, making that his first wank in weeks. Hell no.

                Ian tried to shove those thoughts away into the back of his mind. After all he had to focus on his work out and it just wouldn’t be good to pop a boner in a gym full of mostly straight men. They might get pissed thinking they were the cause, then Ian would probably only be poking the bear by saying “don’t flatter yourself” and right now all he wanted to do was relax into his work out and maybe see Mickey. Ian hopped off the treadmill he’d been power-walking on and drank some of his water before taking hold of the nearest pull up bar. He’d been out of practice, but the burn he felt in his muscles as he pulled himself up several times was something he relished in. He had no idea why he stopped working out, it felt amazing. Maybe he should invest in getting his own pull up bar.

                Ian had just done his 15th pull up and was about to finish up when he heard a familiar low, impressed whistle coming from behind him.

                “Goddamn Gallagher, I had no idea you were so jacked up.”

                Ian suddenly decided that 20 was a nice, round number to end on. He made a show of using just the right technique to make his back muscles contract as he pulled himself up on the bar a few more times before letting go. He turned around to face Mickey who had been watching him with raised eyebrows. He seemed to like what he saw. Ian rested his hands up on the bar, grinning at Mickey.

                “Used to be in the army, the work out regimens just kind of stuck with me.”

                “Tough guy, huh?” Mickey wet his lips and stepped over to the pull up bar next to Ian’s. Ian was sure the whole show was meant for Ian to think Mickey was sexy and Ian had to admit that watching his shoulder muscles work around his grey tank top was pretty hot. However, because Mickey was so short he had to jump up to grab the bar, his legs swinging for a moment before he could properly pull himself up and Ian just thought that was fucking adorable. He did several pull ups in quick succession before dropping back down, a smug little smirk tugging at his lips.

                “So you were in the army?” Mickey asked.

                “Yeah,” Ian murmured, letting Mickey know it wasn’t something that he wanted to talk about. Those two years of service that Ian did before his disability discharge weren’t fond memories, and he hated revisiting them. He didn’t have PTSD or anything extreme like that, but it was still painful. He had received a Purple Heart that he was actually quite proud of because he got it protecting an insurgent woman from shrapnel when he was overseas. The wound wasn’t bad, he’d obviously lived. And the woman was clearly grateful for his actions. So he thought if anything good came from his dumbass impulse to enlist, it was that. Mickey thankfully caught on that Ian didn’t want to talk about it and changed the subject.

                “Can we get outta here, so I can show you something?” He asked suspiciously. Ian cocked an eyebrow at him.

                “Can I shower first?” Mickey’s eyes fell to Ian’s body which was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and grinned.

                “No, I don’t want you to miss it.”

                Ian had gathered up his things and followed Mickey out in a rush. Mickey led the way to a building across the street. It was empty as the owner was renting it out but no one had been interested.

                “What are we doing here?”

                “You ask too many questions, Gallagher.” He flashed Ian a grin and leaned against a wall by a door.

                “Yeah, I’m gonna ask questions when a strange man pulls me half naked over to an abandoned building,” Ian quipped just as the janitor who swept up the building every day came out of the door.

                “Half-naked? Bullshit, you still got your pants on at least,” Mickey smirked. Before the door could fully close, Mickey stuck his foot out to catch it and peered at the retreating janitor before pulling Ian inside. He made his way to the staircase, and the more steps they took the more anxious Ian felt. It was a six story building and by the third floor Ian’s heart was in his throat. Mickey still held his hand as they ran up the stairs as if he knew that if he didn’t hold his hand Ian would run back downstairs.

                “You know I’m afraid of heights right?!” Ian shouted, his panicked voice echoing in the stairwell and he started to tug his hand away from Mickey’s. Mickey kept a firm grip on his hand though and looked back at him with a smile.

                “I know. Just trust me.”

                When they finally made it to the roof access, Ian was taking quick, frantic breaths. The air was thin and Mickey was still pulling Ian, who now was seriously trying to get away.

                “Mick, no! I hate—no I can’t, just take me back down.” Mickey must have mistaken Ian’s fit of nervous laughter for playfulness because he picked Ian up bridal style and carried him across the rooftop, Ian fidgeting in his arms and hyperventilating. He carried him all the way to the edge and set him down next to him. Ian almost fainted on the spot, but Mickey grabbed the sides of his head to force him to look up in front of him, and suddenly nothing else in the world mattered. The sun was setting, and there were so many colors that Ian wasn’t even sure the sky could be. Dozens of variations of purples, oranges, pinks, and yellows. It looked more like an impressionist painting than an actual sky. He barely noticed when Mickey pulled his hands away from his face. He was far too busy wondering why the hell he’d been using that stupid black and white filter for so long when he could have been photographing something like _this_.

                The fact that he was standing so close to the edge of a six story building didn’t seem to bother Ian anymore. His index finger twitched as he chastised himself for not bringing his camera. Even if he didn’t get a time lapse, a single photo of the sunset would have sufficed. Mickey seemed to read his mind, and was pushing his unlocked phone into Ian’s hand. Ian didn’t waste a second. He opened the camera app and snapped several pictures, his grin practically from ear to ear. When he decided he was happy with the photos he’d taken, he turned to Mickey who looked at him with a smug little smile. Ian looked down at his feet then to avoid Mickey’s expression. He was looking down six stories. He was aware that he could fall from this roof right now to his death, and everything would be over. But he wasn’t quite as afraid as before. He was still too busy being enamored with the streaks of color in the sky.

                He’d been so enamored, in fact, that he didn’t notice Mickey still watching him so intently. When he did finally notice, he made himself tear his eyes away from the entrancing sunset and he saw a color the sky could never recreate; a blue so intense yet so soft that it shook Ian to his core. He saw everything. He saw every day and night. He saw spring, summer, fall, winter, every moment that ever can and will be; he’d be lying if he said he didn’t see Mickey in every one of those moments. And there was no fucking way he was going to let it all go just because he was scared of taking a risk. Before Ian could talk himself out of it, he cupped the back of the brunet’s neck and pulled him into his space. Their bodies collided as did their lips, and Ian breathed in every bit of Mickey that he could. The sunset was nothing compared to them. He chastised himself once more for not bringing his camera, as this was more breath taking than any sinking sun or Mexican supercell. Their lips were wet and swollen when they finally pulled away, and they looked over and saw the moon already rising to take the sun’s place.


	5. I Never Thought I Was Crazy

****

_Imagine me and you, I do_

_But I'm thinking too much and I'm studying how they toss the dice._

_\- Flobots_

                When Ian finally returned home that night, he was unfortunately met with Lip sitting on the couch pretending to be immersed in a book. Ian knew the drill. He moved to sit next to his brother with an impetuous sigh.

                “What?” Lip absently questioned Ian’s sigh.

                “You’re pretending to read again.”

                “What makes you say that?”

                Ian huffed and grabbed the book out of Lip’s hand. “The book’s upside down, shithead. Now what do you want?” Ian watched as his brother picked up a manila envelope beside him and opened it, pulling out a handful of photographs.

                “Got the pictures from the SD card you gave me today.”

                “Great, thanks,” Ian grinned and reached for the photos, wanting so badly to see how the pictures of him and Mickey came out. Lip pulled them out of Ian’s reach and began to rifle through them. “Lip, what are you—“

                “Who’s this?” Lip asked simply, holding out the second photo of Ian and Mickey. Ian narrowed his eyes and made a move to snatch the photo.

                “No one.”           

                “Not so fast,” Lip jumped off the couch before his brother could take the picture. He held it out in front of him, as if Ian was a criminal in court and the photo was evidence. “This picture was taken at 11:13 last night, way later than your doctor’s appointment was supposed to last. Then, you _willingly_ went out today to the gym? You haven’t been to the gym in months, suddenly you’re beefing up so you can bone some guy?”

                “I’m not _boning_ anyone,” Ian groaned and tried to grab the photo but Lip slapped his hand away.

                “Is that why you didn’t wanna go out with _Brian_ ,” Lip enunciated the name teasingly, which earned him a punch to the arm from Ian. “’Cause you’re already seeing someone?”

                Ian finally pried the photo from Lip’s hand, his skin darkening to match his freckles as he turned away from his brother in embarrassment.

                “I’m not seeing him. I met him last night.”

                “So why do you look like you just got laid?”

                “I was at the gym, all I did was kiss him!” Ian whined, picking up the rest of his photographs and collapsing back on the couch. Lip watched his brother with great amusement at how heated he got when he was teased. He held up his hands in surrender and sat down beside Ian.

                “You really like this guy?” Lip asked. Ian only nodded slowly. “Then what the fuck are you doing here—“ Lip stopped short when he saw his brother’s forlorn expression. He peered over Ian’s shoulder at the photograph he was looking at and saw a weird light, almost like a lens flare, behind Ian’s head.

                “What’s going on there?” Lip wondered aloud, pointing to the light. Ian shrugged. He was more than a little distressed that the photo hadn’t come out perfect like the other one, even if Mickey didn’t look ready. Ian thought it looked cute.

                “Maybe the flash reflected off of something. The whole kitchen was pretty much made of chrome.”

                “Kitchen? You were in his apartment?” Lip’s face lit up with pride and he nudged his brother. “So you _did_ get laid!”

                “No, smart ass. There was an old kitchen in his apartment building that was supposed to be closed off.”

                “Never knew you were into that risky public shit,” Lip teased.

                “I’m done with this conversation,” Ian rolled his eyes and gathered up his photos so he could put them away before he grabbed a shower. Thankfully Lip kept whatever other snarky comments he had to himself.

                The warmth of the shower, which Ian kept the pressure set to a comfortable massage, did nothing to quell the cold butterflies that flitted about his stomach. He couldn’t stop thinking about Mickey. He still had the taste of the other man on his lips, the feel of his fingers gripping his dark hair and his tattooed hand coming up to cup his jaw. Ian hadn’t really showered like this in weeks. He usually sat lazily in the bath, not having the energy to stand for ten minutes while he showered. Now he was bouncy and energetic and, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was manic. But when he was manic it was more like he was caffeinated. This felt more like… happiness, like hopefulness. And that scared Ian to death. It felt inevitable that soon enough Mickey too would be ripped from his life and he would fall back into the chasm of his depression, perhaps even worse off than before—

                Ian’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door being pushed open. He grew up in a house of six kids, so he was no stranger to the lack of privacy. He was annoyed, however, when the station on the radio he kept near the door was switched to a man’s voice twanging and grating against his ears. He hated country music, and Lip knew that.

                “Lip, stop touching my fucking radio!”

                “I didn’t touch your precious radio,” Lip’s voice came from across the apartment, urging Ian to peek out of the shower curtains. The door was wide open and Ian grunted in agitation when he saw his towel was missing.

                “And bring my towel back, asshole,” Ian shouted. He furrowed his brow when Lip yelled back that he didn’t touch the towel either. He finally huffed and gave up, grumbling about Lip as he returned to his shower. Pouring a generous amount of shampoo onto his scalp, Ian sighed softly as he let his thoughts travel back to Mickey. He barely had a spare second to think negatively about how their relationship could end before the shower curtains were ripped open. Ian was furious, thoroughly done with Lip’s bullshit. He quickly wiped the shampoo out of his and turned toward the curtains with a less than joyous shout.

                “Fucking stop!” He screamed, but went silent at the sight before his eyes. Or rather, the lack of sight. Lip wasn’t there; _nobody_ was there. That smell came again, the one from the kitchen in Mickey’s apartment building. Ian rinsed the shampoo out of his hair as fast as he could, then scrambled out of the shower, naked, down the hall to his bedroom. He slammed the door shut behind him and covered his nose. That smell was absolutely _rank_ and it made Ian feel nauseous. Maybe it was a problem in the pipes. He contemplated going to the kitchen to see if maybe their eggs had spoiled, but he honestly didn’t want to leave the room. It wasn’t a feeling he could readily describe, but he just felt safer in his room. The air conditioner was on full blast over his head. The cool air blew gently against Ian’s skin, making the droplets of water that ran down his chest feel so cold that he couldn’t help but shiver. Not wanting to venture back out into the hallway, he grabbed a clean shirt and dried himself off with it. He went to bed feeling very uneasy that night, and he wasn’t quite sure that it was only because of Mickey.

                Ian didn’t see Mickey for almost a week after that night. Many nightmares that he considered prophetic and his experience with people in the past made him cut off all contact with the other man. Well, most contact. Mickey called him several times, very insistent (charmingly so) that they should see each other again. Ian listened to the messages, read the texts, but refused to respond. He liked Mickey, and maybe he was even starting to fall for him, and though he must have spent hours giving himself pep talks about taking a risk, he just couldn’t do it. There would be someone else for Mickey, he would get over his infatuation with Ian and run into some other guy on the street and want him, and Ian could be alone forever. At least, that’s how Lip had put it to Ian several times when he caught him sulking over the photos of himself and the brunet. Ian had just stopped to pick up Lip from work when his phone alerted him with another voice mail. He didn’t even have to look at the caller ID to know who it was. Ian almost didn’t recognize Mickey’s voice at first, it was oddly soft and almost resigned.

                “ _Hey, just… throwin’ this out there one more time. I know you’re a little jumpy and uh, I get it. I just, I dunno. I thought we had fun. I did, anyways.”_ There was a moment of silence that Ian found he was holding his breath for. He quickly released it and listened as Mickey tried to make himself sound his usual, sassy self. “ _I was thinking of going skydiving next week and I know you’re into that kind of thing so I figured maybe you’d wanna come,”_ a little laugh came over the line and Ian joined in, covering his mouth to hide his smile. But Mickey’s voice dropped once more and Ian’s smile faded. “ _Look, just… send me a fucking text or something, so I know you’re alright? If you don’t wanna hang out anymore, just tell me. Don’t leave me in the fucking dark making me think I made you lose it by taking you up on that roof.”_ And with that Mickey hung up, Ian’s frown so heavy on his face he seemed to droop in his seat. He felt a little guilty for making Mickey worry, but he knew it was better this way. He didn’t need to drag Mickey into the shit show that his life had become. Ian sighed and looked out the window to see if Lip was coming, but he was nowhere to be seen.

                He’d been so focused on looking for Lip that he jumped and almost pissed himself when the car radio turned on. The car itself was off, yet the radio was blasting some old song that grated on Ian’s ears from the poor, crackling quality. He hit the button for the radio several times, becoming more and more distressed each time that it wouldn’t turn off. The music got louder and louder until Ian had to cover his ears. He felt an overwhelming migraine coming on and he didn’t know what to do in his sudden panic. His heart pounded harshly in his ears and he was pretty sure he was screaming when all the noise stopped and he felt someone grabbing his arm. He didn’t even realize his eyes were closed. His eyes flew open wildly and he panted as he registered Lip now sitting in the car with him.

                “Dude, what the fuck happened?”

                Ian’s head spun and buzzed. At first he thought he’d never catch his breath until it became deep and labored. Meanwhile, Lip rubbed at his freckled nose with a napkin. The scent of iron told him it was blood trickling out of his nose, but he was too disoriented to care.

                “Ian!” Lip’s voice grounded Ian just enough for him to finally answer.

                “Radio, too loud,” he mumbled, his hand coming up to swat Lip’s hand away from his nose. He didn’t like it when people fussed over him.

                “You’re bleeding, get in the back seat.”

                “Lip, it’s my car I’m not—“

                “Get in the fucking back,” Lip growled, already maneuvering Ian by his shoulders into the back seat. Ian was too dizzy so he simply allowed himself to be guided back there. He laid across the seat and let his head loll back, and he watched the evening sky go by out the window above him as Lip drove them home.

                “Who the fuck’s Mickey?” Lip asked just after running a red light. Ian groaned weakly.

                “If you get a ticket in my car, I’m gonna kill you.” He furrowed his brow when he realized Lip’s question. He’d never told his brother Mickey’s name. “That’s the guy I met last week. How’d you know?”

                “That’s what you were screaming when I got in the car,” said Lip, who cocked an eyebrow at the rear view mirror. Ian sighed dramatically and rolled over to face the back of the seat, his skin hot from embarrassment. Great, more ammunition for Lip to remind Ian what a cowardly shit he was.

                “Maybe you should just go see this guy. You obviously like him. And judging by the thousands of calls and texts, he likes you too. This is what you need man, a distraction—“

                “Lip, seriously, I’m really fucking tired of hearing this. Just drop it, _please_.” Lip stayed quiet after that, electing to simply take his brother home and get him into bed to relax. In a way Ian was unhappy with Lip’s obedience because the silence gave him way too much room to think. And think, he did. Lip tried to get Ian to take a shower but he was drained from his fit in the car, so he resigned to just get to bed early. He didn’t even bother to pull the blankets up over himself. How fucking embarrassing, that he was shouting Mickey’s name like a scared kid calling daddy to fight the monsters in his closet. He hated himself for a number reasons that were too long to list but convincing himself he needs to see Mickey again was number one. He decided not to think of Mickey anymore, to simply block his number and forget about him. But fuck, he was too exhausted to look for his phone. He could easily do it in the morning when he woke up. Yeah, that was a good plan. Block Mickey’s number in the morning and get on with his life. Easier said than done, right? For now though, Ian needed sleep. He needed to forget about his fucked up day. Maybe he was having some kind of weird side effect. His meds had recently been adjusted, after all.

                He was just about to drift off to sleep when he started to think maybe he should just pull the blanket over himself. The room grew exponentially colder within a matter of minutes until Ian was shivering.

                And then he began to wonder how he didn’t notice it before. He really should have, but as usual, he was far too wrapped up in his self-pity to have wasted a second thought on the veil of darkness that settled around him. The rest of the room seemed fairly normal. But the space around him and his bed had become pitch black. He recognized that disgusting scent flooding his nostrils. He didn’t notice it of course, until he was choking. No, not choking from the stench. Ian was being _choked_. Slender, bony fingers locked tightly around his throat. They squeezed so hard that he could feel his airways closing up. His vision began to blur and right when he needed it most, his body betrayed him; his petrifying fear made his limbs feel weighed down and the slow motion he was moving in felt very real. He made a futile attempt at a scream. Nothing came out except raspy, choked sobs. Another set of fingers snaked up and began crushing Ian’s throat where the other hand couldn’t reach. He could hear his blood roaring in his ears as his pulse points were being squeezed.

                It wasn’t until he saw who was choking him that his adrenaline kicked in. No one. There was fucking no one and nothing in the room. His eyes strained to see better, to make some sense of his situation. But there was nothing. The room was empty but for Ian. Adrenaline coursed through Ian’s body and he managed to regain control of it. He started to kick and thrash viciously until he finally felt the _thing_ above him relinquish its grip. A horrified scream tore itself from Ian’s sore throat and he rocketed down the hallway. He still couldn’t take a full breath, especially because of the odor that still hung in the air. When he reached the living room, he was perplexed to remember that Lip had gone out with that Karen girl after he got Ian into bed. So he was alone in the apartment. Well, fuck that. Without a second thought, Ian snatched his phone from the couch where he left it earlier and bolted out of the apartment. He didn’t even bother to grab his coat.

                “Thank fuck, man. I thought something happened to you.” Mickey sounded so happy that Ian called him, that Ian forgot the whole evening’s events for a split second. He didn’t think anyone had ever sounded that happy just because he called them.

                “Mickey, where’s your place again? I-I forgot the address.” Ian’s voice came out rough and panicked, and he sounded pathetic. At least Mickey picked up on his distress.

                “What’s wrong? Where are you?”

                “The fucking address, Mick!” Ian realized he was screaming into his phone in the middle of the street in his pajamas. “Please,” he added in a hushed sob, his voice cracking pathetically. Mickey rattled off his address quickly, which Ian hurriedly set out to find.

                “Gallagher come on, fucking talk to me,” Mickey pleaded. Ian worried his lower lip and stayed silent. He didn’t speak again until he saw the tip of Mickey’s apartment complex peeking over the neighboring buildings.

                “I’ll be there in five.”

                When Ian finally made it to Mickey’s door, he felt like a fucking fool. He was wearing only boxers and a T-shirt, no shoes, and he was shivering violently. But when Mickey opened the door, he didn’t seem to care about any of that. He immediately reached for Ian’s shoulder to pull him into the apartment. He cupped Ian’s jaw and tilted his head to examine the bruises on his neck.

                “Who the fuck did this?” Mickey growled. His eyes darkened with anger that radiated off his pale cheeks.

                “I don’t…” Ian stared at Mickey dumbly. “I don’t know. I didn’t see it.”

                “It?” Mickey caught on to Ian’s subject usage quick. But he was also kind of looking at Ian like he was crazy. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

                “It was on top of me, choking me. But I didn’t see it. My eyes were open Mick and I didn’t see a fucking thing.” Ian’s panicky rambling was interrupted with a sigh from Mickey. It was the exact sort of sigh that adults used when listening to a child’s unbelievable story. Ian narrowed his eyes.

                “You don’t believe me.” It wasn’t a question, and the obvious inner workings of Mickey’s mind trying to come up with an honest yet inoffensive reply only further supported Ian’s statement.

                “Fuck you,” Ian muttered bitterly. He tried to turn around to stomp out of the apartment, but Mickey kept a strong grip on his shoulder.

                “Ian, come on. It just sounds fucked up. Maybe you just had a really realistic dream, and you hurt yourself,” Mickey reasoned. Ian scoffed and tried to leave again, but Mickey arrested his attention when he said, “it used to happen to me a lot.”

                “How realistic?” Ian asked after a few quiet moments. Mickey seemed to deflate a bit.

                “I had a dream once that I got shot in the heart,” said Mickey, who sighed as he lifted up his shirt. “Thought it really happened until I noticed there was no bullet.” Ian grimaced at the puffy, white indentation on Mickey’s chest. He must have dug a hole into his skin while he dreamt. The wound had long healed over but also left Mickey with a rather gnarly scar. Ian reached out and touched his fingertips to the scar, not missing the slight shudder that ran up Mickey’s spine as he did so. Suddenly, he became acutely aware of the intimacy of the moment. Touching Mickey’s chest, Mickey’s hand still gripping his shoulder. Ian dropped his hand to his side and stepped back in a hurry.

                “Fine. Maybe it was a dream. But I’m not going home, no fucking way.” Mickey was shaking his head to mitigate Ian’s nerves before he even finished his sentence.

                “I don’t expect you to.” Mickey let his t-shirt fall back into place where it settled (rather nicely) right above his hips. He gestured for Ian to follow him to the kitchen.

                “You must be fucking freezing man, you want a drink?” Mickey waved his hand vaguely toward the liquor cabinet.

                “No, I’m not supposed to.” Ian said softly, feeling like a little kid saying they were underage. It was stupid that alcohol fucked with his meds. On some nights, just like this one, he just wanted to get black out wasted but he couldn’t even do that.

                “Hot chocolate then.” Mickey shrugged and began to ransack the cabinets looking for cocoa powder. “Down the hall, second door on the left. Change into something warm, your skin’s ice fucking cold.” Ian’s fingers curled into a fist. He was a bit embarrassed; Mickey must have had to try not to recoil at Ian’s cold fingers prodding at his chest. He gave Mickey a curt nod and did as he was told. There were four doors in the hallway, one of which clearly led to a sort of utility closet. The other three were fair game though, since Ian was still too shaken to remember whether Mickey said the door on the right or the left. Well, he wasn’t going to figure it out by just standing there collecting dust in Mickey’s hallway. He took a chance and entered the second door on the right. He quickly understood he made the wrong choice when he was faced with a pair of exposed breasts.

                “Shit Mickey, I’m changing!” The girl shouted as she pulled an oversized T-shirt over her body, which glistened with streaks of water from, presumably, a recent shower. She was about to reach for something to hurl at the intruder, but she froze when she noticed Ian.

                “You’re not Mickey.” She said it appreciatively, and she shamelessly eyed Ian as if she were a praying mantis looking for a male to fertilize her eggs. Ian almost wanted to grab at his head to protect from having it bitten off. Ian frowned deeply. He thought Mickey was gay. So who was this girl? Who the fuck was she and why was she naked in Mickey’s apartment? Ian felt his irrational anger building but he couldn’t stop himself. He was about to explode when he heard Mickey’s voice in the doorway behind him.

                “Hey Mands, you wanna stop eye-raping the poor guy and help him find my room?”

                Mands… Mandy. Shit. Ian almost lost his shit on Mickey’s sister.

                “Oh, he’s one your _guests_ then,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. It seemed something clicked in her mind because suddenly her face lit up.

                “You must be Ian then! I’ve heard _so_ much about you.” She beamed, looking pointedly at her brother.

                “Oh my god,” Mickey said in immediate defeat. He told her to shut the fuck up and he returned to the kitchen. Mandy nodded her head toward the door for Ian to follow. Once they were in Mickey’s room, Ian found that it was exactly how he pictured. “Stay the fuck out” was written crudely in sharpie across his door, and posters lined the wall. A couple of Seagal film posters, some random nazi and criminal stuff as well. _That’s Mickey Milkovich for ya,_ Ian thought as he took it all in. He started rifling through Mickey’s drawers in an attempt to find something warm to wear. It was a bit difficult, considering a lot of Mickey’s clothes didn’t really fit him. He finally settled on an oversized (for Mickey at least; Ian demanded to know how Mickey looked wearing it) hoodie and some sweatpants. After changing his clothes, Ian turned around to find Mandy watching him in the doorway.

                “Can I help you?” He asked amusedly. She let out a loud, longsuffering sigh.

                “Sadly, no.”

                Ian laughed and managed to pass her to get to the kitchen.

                “So you’re his sister?”

                “Yep. And you’re his greatest fantsy,” said Mandy with a smirk. Ian felt his cheeks grow warm almost instantly.

                “Mandy, please shut the fuck up.” Mickey pleaded with his sister until she finally retreated back to her room, leaving the boys alone. Mickey handed Ian a mug of hot chocolate. He was glad it wasn’t coffee, he didn’t need to stay up caffeinated all night. He really just wanted to sleep.

                “Look,” Ian said softly, ill-prepared to tackle the elephant in the room, “I really meant to call you back, I just—“

                “No you didn’t.” Mickey smiled a little. A sad, deflated little smile that tried to say ‘I’m strong’ but actually said ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough’ and Ian hated it. “You weren’t gonna answer, or call back, and I knew that. So I don’t know why I kept fucking trying,” he laughed bitterly and sipped at his own cup, which appeared to be some kind of alcohol. “Guess I’m just a glutton for punishment.”

                “Mickey—“

                “Why did you call me tonight?” Mickey asked, his voice coated with cynicism. Ian blinked. Why had he called Mickey? He could have called Lip, or Fiona. Or anyone else in his family. But he didn’t even really consider them. He looked up to meet Mickey’s eyes, which were dark and jaded. Mickey nodded slowly and looked away when Ian had no answer.

                “Right. Well by all means, let me know when you _do_ know.” He tossed back the rest of his drink and set the empty glass in the sink, and he patted Ian’s shoulder as he walked past him. “You can sleep in my bed, I’ll take the couch. Night, Gallagher.”

               

                Ian couldn’t sleep. He clenched the sheets up under his chin in tight fists; every muscle in his body was tensed. The thought of opening his eyes and seeing that dark shadow above him again was heart wrenching, so he squeezed them shut as tightly as he could until multi-colored dots filled his vision. But his skin itched like a motherfucker, and it was just as distracting as the dots. He didn’t feel safe. Mickey’s bed was too big for him to be in alone. At least, that was the excuse he came up with even as he was sliding out of the bed and tiptoeing to the living room. Mickey was lying on his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling in thought. He finally noticed Ian after a while, who stood solemnly in the doorway of the hall. Mickey propped himself up on his elbows and looked at Ian, his brow furrowed.

                “You okay? You need anything? Water, blankets…” Mickey trailed off at the way that Ian was staring at him, silent and tired. “What?”

                “You,” said Ian after several long moments. Mickey watched him, blinking in confusion.

                “What?” He repeated absently.

                “You, I need you.”

                “You _need_ me?” Mickey grinned like an idiot, his teeth standing out even in the darkness. “That’s pretty fucking gay,” he teased.

                “Right, because your tongue jammed down my throat last week was so hetero.” Mickey laughed and Ian smiled so hard he was sure his face would just split.

                “Come on, before I change my mind.” Ian watched as Mickey got up from the couch and followed him back into his bedroom. As soon as the door was shut behind them, Ian stopped and turned to face Mickey. He gave Mickey a needy look, wanting to pull him close but still closing himself off. Mickey grabbed the hem of Ian’s hoodie and tugged at it gently, stepping closer to Ian. He made a move to kiss the trembling redhead, but Ian put a hand on Mickey’s chest to stop him.

                “What now, Firecrotch?” Mickey asked, getting frustrated, but Ian could hear the concern in his tone.

                “What happens if I fall in love with you?” Ian whispered. He stared down at the floor, too ashamed of the extent of his cowardice, and afraid of what Mickey might say.

                Mickey quickly replied, “Everything.” Ian looked up to see his own fearful expression mirrored in Mickey’s face. He seemed just as apprehensive as Ian did, but Mickey was determined to take the risk because for whatever reason, he believed Ian was worth it. He worked so hard to get Ian because he thought the shit he might go through would be worth the good stuff. When Ian grabbed the back of Mickey’s head and pulled him into a kiss, he found that he could breathe for the first time in months. The kiss was so forceful and clumsy that Mickey almost fell against Ian, but he kissed back eagerly nonetheless. It was clumsy, with too much teeth and tongue, but they were men trapped in the desert; desperate to taste each other like sweet water. Hands groped at what they could; hair, jaws, thighs, back. Their wanton touches led Mickey to pull Ian back toward the bed, pulling Ian down with him without either man daring to break the kiss. They shed clothes one by one and held each other until their tangled limbs were indistinguishable. Teeth and nails sank into flesh, pleasured pants filled the night and they fucked until they were breathless and alive.

                And Ian felt so fucking alive.


End file.
